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People assume that science is a very cold sort of profession, whereas writing novels is a warm and fuzzy intuitive thing. But in fact, they are not at all different.

Diana Gabaldon

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Diana Gabaldon
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: January 11
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Williams
Arizona
Diana J. Gabaldon Perez
Different
Profession
Writing
Warm
Thing
Novel
Fuzzy
People
Cold
Intuitive
Sort
Novels
Fact
Whereas
Science
Assume
Facts
Assuming

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Lord, ye gave me a rare woman, and God! I loved her well.
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D'ye think I don't know? he asked softly. It's me that has the easy part now. For if ye feel for me as I do for you-then I'm asking you to tear out your heart and live without it.
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There were moments, of course. Those small spaces in time, too soon gone, when everything seems to stand still, and existence is balanced on a perfect point, like the moment of change between the dark and the light, and when both and neither surround you.
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I shook so that it was some time before I realized that he was shaking too, and for the same reason. I don't know how long we sat there on the dusty floor, crying in each others arms with the longing of twenty years spilling down our faces.
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Men would eat horse droppings, if ye served them wi' butter.
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Oh, womanly sympathy, love AND food? I said, laughing. Don't want a lot, do you?
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Harmless as a setting dove, he agreed. I'm too hungry to be a threat to anything but breakfast. Let a stray bannock come within reach, though, and I'll no answer for the consequences.
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For so many years, for so long, I have been so many things, so many different men. But here, he said, so softly I could barely hear him, here in the dark, with you… I have no name.
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If I die, he whispered in the dark, dinna follow me. The bairns will need ye. Stay for them. I can wait.
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She sounded as though love were an unfortunate but unavoidable condition.
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That's not precisely what I had in mind. Jamie, I had found out by accident a few days previously, had never mastered the art of winking one eye. Instead, he blinked solemnly, like a large red owl.
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Everyone can lie, young Roger, given cause enough. Even me. It's only that it's harder for those of us who live in glass faces we have to think up our lies ahead of time.
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We have nothing now between us, save - respect, perhaps. And I think that respect has maybe room for secrets, but not for lies.
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Sassenach. He had called me that from the first the Gaelic word for outlander, a stranger. An Englishman. First in jest, then in affection.
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We are bound, you and I, and nothing on this earth shall part me from you.
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You could tell from the books whether a library was meant for show or not. Books that were used had an open, interested feel to them, even if closed and neatly lined up on a shelf in strict order with their fellows. You felt as though the book took as much interest in you as you did in it and was willing to help when you reached for it.
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Then let amourous kisses dwell On our lips, begin and tell A Thousand and a Hundred score A Hundred and a Thousand more
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I dinna know what's a sadist. And if I forgive you for this afternoon, I reckon you'll forgive me, too, as soon as ye can sit down again. As for my pleasure... His lip twitched. I said I would have to punish you. I did not say I wasna going to enjoy it. He crooked a finger at me. Come here.
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Not for the first time, I reflected that intimacy and romance are not synonymous.
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Highlanders make the truest friends-if only because they make the worst enemies.
Diana Gabaldon